Mirrors and Shadows
by Erik Thomas Stephans
Summary: AU The Potters - except Harry - and Sirius were killed by a muggle serial killer and was left in an orphanage. Despite his attempts to fit in, it seems as if something strange always happens to mess things up - at least, until Tom Riddle shows up.
1. Going Home for the First Time

**Mirrors and Shadows**

_By Angelis Raye_

_**Basis**: James and Lily Potter were killed in their home with Sirius Black on August 27th, 1983, by a Muggle serial killer on the run. Harry had been staying at Remus's home that the night and so he was not one of the bodies found at Godric's Hallow that night. Because his godfather and all other relatives were dead (and Remus is a werewolf), he was sent to a local orphanage. Tom Riddle, the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts takes an interest in the eight-year old Harry when he sees how set apart the boy is from the others, despite efforts to fit in._

_Chapter 1: Going Home for the First Time_

Walking down the street, groceries for the week in hand, Tom Riddle watched the passers-by, enjoying his time off from school for the summer vacation. The last few years had a number of problem students, in his opinion, and he was looking forward to having a much more well-behaved group of first year students... hopefully. It was only when he nearly ran into a rather flustered couple with a small boy that he was forced out of his thoughts.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the professor apologized, smiling a little at the boy, who had the most intense green eyes he'd ever seen in one so young.

The woman huffed, her heels clicking against the concrete as she tugged at the boy's arm, attempting to make him follow her into the building they were standing in front of. "Come on," she commanded him, completely ignoring Tom. Her fiancé then helped her with the rather defiant child.

"I thought you said you'd take me home," he complained, finally tearing his eyes off of Tom, frowning at the other grown ups, attempting to pull his arm away from the woman's grasp. "You lied to me!" the green eyed boy protested, now beginning to cry.

"It's only because of all those weird pranks you pulled -- not to mention your behavior," she replied, gritting her teeth, trying to pick the young boy up, to force him into the building, despite what he wanted to do. "Rick, would you give me some help, here?"

Tom backed away, not wanting to become too involved with what was happened, knowing it wasn't really any of his business. He looked over his shoulder, glancing back at the boy, who the woman had accused of being the source of weird happenings around their house. It was a pity, he thought, the boy really seemed bright and aware enough to be a good child, even for a young couple, like the one he'd run into. The thought didn't occur to him that he'd been in front of the local orphanage's entrance until he'd already gotten ready for bed that night.

As Tom lay in bed, he couldn't stop thinking about the scrawny little boy with brilliant green eyes, who he realized, looked quite like he did when he was about that age. _What a bizarre coincidence_, was his last thought before drifting off into glorious sleep.

–

Following breakfast, Tom sat at the dinning room table in his cosy condo, his wavy, greying hair pulled back into a small ponytail, most of it falling loose around his face, glasses perched on his nose, examining some paperwork on the table before him. He'd already started working on his lesson plans for the next year, but wanted to include the current events, making sure his material wasn't as outdated as Binn's tended to be, as the ghost kept going every year, mechanically, almost. Tom might be considered old by some of his students, at least when compared to someone like Pomona or Severus, but he wasn't nearly as old as Albus, the headmaster, was for certain.

Thoughts of school, the students, at least, brought back thoughts about the green-eyed boy back at the orphanage, which caused Tom to no longer feel at ease, sitting at the table, planning for September, while that boy was likely depressed and alienated. "_Seem familiar?_" he asked himself, remembering his own experiences in the orphanage he grew up in.

Conflict rose up in him, making him give up on trying to focus on the work he'd set out for himself for a few hours, at least. He needed to take a walk, get his mind off of that boy – it was unrealistic to think that he could adopt such a young child as a single man, who taught full time at a wizarding school in the mountains of Scotland. Although the boy was likely a wizard, too, based upon what he overheard the woman complain about, Tom believed himself someone that was never good with young children – as young as the boy from the day before way. He could handle teaching and tutoring and disciplining his Slytherins and the other students, but taking care of a six or seven year old, full time, on top of his classes?

Really, it was pointless thinking of even the possibility, but the guilt weighed down on Tom's heart, unwarranted thoughts springing up in his mind, supplying many "_what if_"'s, just making everything that much worse. Sighing deeply, Tom took off his glasses and put them in the pocket of his collared shirt, putting his papers away, grabbing his keys, put on his shoes, and then head out the door, determined to do something about this awful feeling of his.

–

Standing across the street from the orphanage, the fifth time that week, Tom took a deep breath, crossing the small road, glancing around himself, watching for cars, he could hear his own heart pounding in his chest. A part of him told him to get his arse back home, get out of this ridiculous suit and try to forget about the kid and get back to work on his class material. The other half of him was cheering him on, telling him he was making the right choice – that at least seeing how the boy was doing was the best thing to do.

"Hello," Tom greeted the woman at the desk, smooth as ever, smiling his charming smile. Granted, he didn't look nearly as handsome with all of that grey hair of his, but, hopefully, he was still good-looking enough to win some favour.

"Do you have an appointment?" the secretary asked, smiling back at Tom a bit shyly. Apparently, he still had some charm left in him. "I need your full name for the records, sir."

"No, but I wanted to see a boy, he has these bright green eyes – he's probably about six or seven years old?" Tom supplied, his heart pounding even harder as he asked, hoping that he wouldn't be thought of as some sort of pervert or anything. "Tom Marvolo Riddle, Jr."

"Oh, you mean Harry?" she asked, her eyebrows raised sceptically, a bit unsure that this man really knew what he was getting into. The boy already had two prospective foster parents change their mind for one reason or another in the past three months. Harry had been there for nearly five years now, and despite how cute and pleasant the boy was, something always happened that left him here, rather than being with a good family, living a normal life. Sure, he was a bit strange, but she couldn't see why so many had rejected him.

"That's his name?" Tom returned, grinning. "If you don't mind, may I see Harry?"

"Sure, he's in his room – number 12 – probably reading or something. He's a good boy," the secretary told him, getting out his file, handing it to Tom to look over. "Follow me," she directed him, standing up to walk down the hall towards Harry's room. After hearing a "come in" following a knock on the door, she opened the wooden door, showing a small boy sitting on the bed, a book perched open before him, a pad of paper next to it with a pencil.

"Harry, dear, Mr. Riddle came to see you today," she said after letting Tom into the room. "Hows your maths book work going?"

"Well," he replied, catching Tom's eyes again. "I saw you last week – sorry you had to see me like that."

Tom didn't know what to say – the boy was surprisingly mature for.... He looked at the file: he was eight, not six or seven as he'd supposed. Much more mature than some of the eleven year old students that he'd taught in his recent years. "It's nice to meet you, Harry," Tom offered a hand, smiling, all self-doubt and conflict vanishing from within up as the boy took it.

"Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Riddle."

"I'd prefer it if you called me Tom," he added, knowing for sure that this boy was much more than he appeared to be – Harry Potter, as his file proclaimed him to be, was most definitely a young wizard. And Tom would be damned if he left the boy here to suffer much as he had when he was that age.

"Tom," Harry repeated, grinning for the first time, in front of Tom – the first time in a week, at least.

–

A week and a half later, Tom came to the orphanage with all of the appropriate paper worked filled out and signed, dressed in his best suit, dyed his hair, and even had his hair cut for this meeting. After all, as an older single man, he had to make the best impression possible, for Harry's sake, so the boy wouldn't be let down, once again. Everything had gone well up until now, but today, he was meeting with the headmistress of the orphanage, who ultimately would sign Harry into Tom's custody.

If Tom had been nervous the first day he'd set foot inside the orphanage, he was even more so today, with such an important decision being made, all depending on if the woman in charge of the children determined if he was suitable to raise Harry properly.

The meeting, however, went surprisingly well, all the paperwork was co-signed by the headmistress, and they shook hands on it, and he was congratulated on becoming a father. It was all a bit much for Tom at the moment and it made him somewhat dizzy with emotion Tom didn't know he had. By the end of it all, he was standing outside the door to the orphanage with Harry, who was just as excited as he felt.

"Are you ready to go home?" Tom asked, grinning at his new son.

Beaming, Harry smiled wide, nodding, grabbing Tom, hugging him tightly. "Thank you so much," he said as he let go, taking the man's empty hand, walking down the street to where he'd live from now on. And Tom wasn't going to break his promise and take Harry back – after all, he'd told Harry what he was and what Harry, himself, was and what he _really _does for a job..... Things weren't going to be so bad, after all, Harry believed, truly happy for one of the first times in his life: he'd get to learn how to be a wizard!

--

Yes, very AU, but, this is always what I've thought of (well, non-dark version) when I thought of Tom adopting Harry. Don't see too many of these kind of fics, eh? For the readers of either WAITS or Dark Lord, I appologize for not writing another chapter of either of them -- this was something that was burning inside of me. I haven't written for Tom in ages and it's not exactly something to repress, I suppose. Been writing too much of Draco, apparently.

Tom has been teaching for 38 years, at this point -- longer than Minerva McGonagall, as the Defence Against the Dark Arts position opened before Dumbledore became the Headmaster, making the Transfiguration position open to Minerva. I'll detail more about the past in later chapters. I hope you've enjoyed this chapter; I certainly had fun writing it.

Reviews are greatly welcomed, and so are questions -- which will be answered to the best of my best ability!


	2. Getting to Know Harry Riddle

**Mirrors and Shadows**

_By Angelis Raye_

_**Basis**__: Tom Riddle, the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts, takes an interest in the eight-year old Harry when he sees how set apart the boy is from the others, despite efforts to fit in at the orphanage he's in. _(See Chapter one for the full version.)

_Chapter __2: Getting to Know Harry Riddle_

Being held hostage due to the torrential rain that was pouring outside the Riddle residence, Harry was bummed, to say the very least. Especially since it was only the second day of living with Tom, and he was stuck inside, _again_.

"Harry," Tom called, coming into the living room, finding his son kneeling on the couch, his nose, hands, and forehead pressed against the window sill, watching the rain fall from the sky, almost endlessly. "Monsoons," he told Harry, smiling, sitting next to the young boy.

"What's that?" the bright-eyed child questioned, taking his face from the window to look at Tom.

The boy was very articulate for his age, which pleased Tom greatly. He wouldn't have that much trouble explaining or teaching the boy things when it came down to it, like now. _Hadn't the care-givers at the orphanage taught him anything?_ Perhaps Harry's attitude had deterred them from actively teaching him anything that he didn't want to learn. And it was just as likely that when that happened, Harry got his hands on books to solve the matter of teaching, rather than dealing with the old women working for the place he stayed in.

But didn't the muggles normally send the children off to school before eight years? And even more questions came rushing to the forefront, but Tom shrugged them off, promising himself that he'd find out eventually. He had a whole summer to spend with Harry, after all, and there was plenty of time to get these questions answered.

"Monsoon happens in the late summer months, when it gets really humid out, causing it to start raining. During the monsoon season, there are quite a number of storms, lightning, thunder, rain, and the works in the monsoon months," the professor explained, grinning at Harry, who ate up everything he told him with such intensity that it had first taken Tom aback when he was teaching Harry something the previous night.

Harry turned halfway back to the window, before Tom touched his shoulder a bit hesitantly. The boy was a little startled, but he calmed almost instantly, remembering that it's only Tom, not some of those crazy people that he'd almost been put with.

Tom and Harry's eyes met, then, and the boy's vibrant, nearly penetrating green eyes spoke for him. And the professor understood, nodding slowly. "You're not going anywhere, Harry," he promised, his hand awkwardly remaining on the shoulder. Tom knew that eventually, he'd get used to interacting with his foster son. But now, things remained as they were: terribly strange, with a definite 'forced emotion' feeling behind everything.

"Perhaps there's something you want to do, Harry?" Tom asked blinking for the first time since his eyes had met Harry's. "You could help me organize all my paperwork for school, if you want. I promise that you won't be as bored doing that as you are right now, just sitting here watching water fall from the heavens."

At first, Harry muttered something that Tom didn't quite catch, causing the older man to ask Harry to repeat himself, eyebrow raised when the boy finally told him in a comprehensible, "I don't like school."

Once the shock wore off, Tom recalled how to breathe again; he then looked back to Harry. "You don't like _school_?" he questioned, aghast.

"No," Harry said, the reply barely a whisper, which was followed by the shaking of the head in the negative.

Curiosity took hold of Tom like nothing other, compelling him to ask, "Why not?"

Then, something that irked Tom more than anything else that'd happened up until that point about how the boy had been treated before he adopted Harry manifested itself in Harry's meek shrug that was supposed to be a non-committal response to Tom's enquiry: Harry had been bullied and neglected more than once in the time of his stay at the orphanage.

Following a deep breath (which proved to do little to help calm his nerves as it should've), Tom looked Harry in the eyes, deep sapphires meeting bright emeralds. "You can tell me what happened. I won't tell on you, Harry. You can trust me," he told the boy, holding back the need to maim the people who put Harry through such terrors. It reminded Tom greatly of the crap he had gone through when he was Harry's age. And that was all more reason why he wanted revenge for the boy.

Something restrained Harry from spilling forth the anguish within him, the guilt of not being able to tell Tom welling up in its place, instead. "I'm sorry," was all that he poured out to his foster father, now unable to meet Tom's gaze.

Not used to dealing with children so young that had to face these problems (definitely not his own adopted son, who he'd known for less than a month, even), Tom felt something akin to frustration. He knew of the feeling, but never before had it been as overwhelming as it was when it came to Harry.

"When you're ready to talk about it, I'll be here," he heard himself say. Tom had no idea where that had come from, but the was exceedingly pleased how well it worked on Harry, who nodded, allowing himself to meet the elder man's eyes once more. He didn't know how to comfort people, let alone young, naive children. Or so he'd thought.

After a moment of silence, Harry could smile again, for all purposes relevant to the moment, appearing to have forgotten (or perhaps, it was burying it back where he thought it belonged, deep down within him, never to be shared with any other living soul) about the conversation he'd just had with Tom.

Tom knew better than to think that this was taken care of – far from it, in fact. But he'd let it go just this once. After all, he had the rest of the summer to help the boy out, didn't he? So, he had Harry help him out with his paperwork, sorting it into neat little piles, teaching Harry the whole time about what he did when he wasn't here during the summer breaks.

--

Just a little over two weeks later found the pair much happier with the passing of the rain and clouds, the weather beginning to cool down a bit. It was now, however, that Tom knew that he would have to confront Harry about his fear of a school environment since he was going to be at Hogwarts with him throughout the year while he taught. Tom supposed that calling Albus Dumbledore to have him help with the ordeal might benefit the both of them, but Harry, most importantly.

"Congratulations," Albus whispered to Tom as he came in the door, later the next day, in reply to Tom's owl. "Where's Harry?" he asked, looking around the living room, first.

"Here I am." Thankfully, Harry wasn't nearly as shy or reserved as he had been, before, in the presence of strangers, now that he'd gotten used to Tom and how dedicated Tom was to protecting him.

"Oh, dear boy, how you've grown since I last saw you," Albus declared, his eyes twinkling, his smile wide with amazement and a bit of pride. "Your mother and father would be so proud of you, if they could see you, Harry."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, very politely, just as Tom had taught him. It was executed perfectly. "But, Tom's my dad, now," he added, confused with what Albus had just told him about his parents.

"Indeed, Tom is your father, now, Harry, making you Harry Riddle, doesn't it?"

A nod.

"But, before Tom adopted you and became your father, the people that took care of you before the orphanage are your parents."

"Sorry, sir, I don't remember them," Harry did his best not to mutter, despite how uncomfortable he felt with not being able to recall something that this old man thought he was supposed to. He looked away from Albus, slightly, which was easily caught by the Headmaster who was a professional at taking care of children, so it seemed.

"Don't be sorry, Harry – you can't help it that you cannot remember them. They loved you all the same, my boy. There's nothing to be ashamed of," Albus confided to the boy, who took well to this, managing to show a bit of his smile once again, raising his head back up to meet the aged wizard's eyes.

"I'll do my best not to, sir."

Meanwhile, Tom watched the entire exchange from the sidelines, mentally taking notes of how Albus handled Harry's negative reactions to anything he said with ease.

"Well, shall we get some supper?" the aged headmaster inquired, pleased to see how Harry's face lit up with the thought of food.

The rest of the evening went just as well, Tom joining in at dinner, the three of them talking about Harry's stay with his new father, much to the two professors' pleasure. And an hour or so after they finished a small dessert, Albus bid them farewell, saying he'd look forward to seeing Harry at Hogwarts in about three weeks with Tom.

--

Five days after Albus' visit was Harry's ninth birthday. It was a small affair, but Harry had asked Tom for an ice cream cake – the kind with the cookies in it, too. And of course, Tom didn't mind indulging Harry on his birthday, after all, he told himself, it only came once a year, so why not? It wasn't as if he really celebrated his own birthday any more, so doing this for his son would be a much better way of spending the money.

Presents consisted of new clothes for Harry's stay at Hogwarts, books, more books, a quill and ink set, and a small grey kitten. The kitten, of course, had been hidden cleverly in Tom's study, kept quiet with a silencing charm on the door and fed frequently for about a week before Harry's birthday. Minerva, of course, had been the one to suggest getting Harry a kitten and Albus had agreed it would keep Harry company while Tom was in class. To Tom, it meant that Harry would begin learning how to be more mature and responsible at the same time.

The tiny, furry, and mewling addition to their family kept Harry busy most of the day the rest of the summer, playing with the kitten and training him to use the litter box (not that it really needed any training, to tell the truth, much to Tom's relief). Harry even named him Incanus, Latin for "grey," which he'd learned from one of the books given to him for his birthday by Tom – which was shortened to "Ink" after a week, for an easier name to call when looking for the mischievous thing.

Ink was a curious (as all cats are, especially kittens) and surprisingly intelligent kitten, as it could hide from even Tom when it didn't want to be found, as well as being capable of fetching its toys and Harry's socks when thrown across the room. And the little boy cat grew quickly, even in just the few weeks they had him before packing up for the trip to Hogwarts for the year, soon loosing some of its klutziness that young kittens have for a few months when they're still getting used to walking and running, and just doing what cats normally do.

--

And at last, August fifteenth came.

Upon arriving at Hogwarts, Tom couldn't wait to show his son around the grand old castle, telling him stories about his own school days (well, at least, the more innocent ones that Harry could appreciate at nine years old) and the different classes that were taught at the school. All in all, it appeared to Tom that Harry was much more comfortable with Hogwarts than the boy was with the thought of the muggle schools he'd attended.

"Why don't I get to go to the classes, Tom?" Harry asked, suddenly, changing the subject at lightning speed.

"You'll be sorted and start classes, officially, the year after your eleventh birthday," Tom explained to Harry, smiling.

"But, Tom," the boy cried, his face pulled into an imploring expression, eyes full of hope.

"I'm not going to promise anything, since rules are rules, after all, but perhaps you and I can convince Professor Dumbledore to bend the rules a little for you, all right?" Tom compromised, knowing that it was likely that the boy wasn't going to be able to get into the school, as he was still two years too young. Perhaps when Harry turned ten, Albus might let him in if the boy signed a contract of sorts.

Then again, knowing Albus… Tom could pull a few favours on the old headmaster, who could pull a few strings with the Ministry to allow Harry in. After all, he was his father, now, so it shouldn't be an issue with how Harry would do, academically.

In the end, rules were made to be broken, yes?

_To be continued._

--

First of all, I hope my readers didn't think I had abandoned them! School can be rather chaotic, to say the least; and today is the first day of summer break. And today is the day that I've gotten quite a bit accomplished. Updates will be a little more often than the past month and a half, now that finals are over.

As always, comments, reviews, questions (answered as promptly as probable), and whatever else you think of saying (that's appropriate, please) are greatly appreciated, even if it's just one or two words.

_Should Albus pull some strings and get Harry into Hogwarts two years early or should he be forced to wait? _


	3. As Summer Fades into Fall

**Mirrors and Shadows**

_By Angelis Raye_

_**Basis**__: Tom Riddle, the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts, takes an interest in the eight-year old Harry when he sees how set apart the boy is from the others, despite efforts to fit in at the orphanage he's in. _(See Chapter one for the full version.)

_Chapter 3: As Summer Fades into Fall_

The gray cat darted across the room with Harry right behind it, a wide grin spread across his face. "Ink!!" he called, laughing, vainly trying to catch the elusive creature.

"Harry?" Tom asked, coming into the room with a small folder of papers. Watching the two playing, the professor smiled, then bent down and swiftly caught the little kitten. "_Aha!_ I have you now," he declared as Ink tried to wiggle out of his hands, but failing to escape from Tom's secure grip on him.

"Hi, Tom," Harry greeted, a shy smile playing across his face, standing in front of the man, looking up, expectantly.

"Well, it doesn't seem that the two of you have demolished the place in my absence," he assessed, grinning back at his adopted son. "I have some good news for you, Harry," Tom told the boy, watching as a _real_ smile began to unfold on his small, red lips.

Speechless, Harry rushed the man, nearly knocking him over with the force of it, squeezing Tom's middle as tightly as he could to express his gratitude.

"Now, this means that you won't be spending much time playing or anything anymore – you'll have to do homework and study," Tom forewarned, very serious about the whole thing, treating as it should be treated, especially with such a young boy.

Harry nodded, his expression showing more emotion that words could at the moment. And for this, Tom knew that what he did was the right thing, for all that he could foresee.

"Today, we're going to go get your school supplies," Tom announced, giving the small boy a letter that he normally would have received after his eleventh birthday. "You're going to have to promise me, though, that you won't use your wand outside of class and practicing in front of me or another teacher. Promise?"

Grinning, Harry shook Tom's outstretched hand eagerly. "I promise," he replied in response to the question posed to him. "And I'm ready to go, Tom."

"Indeed, you are. Well, let me get my bag and we'll be going."

--

A handful of hours later, Tom and his small foster son returned to Hogwarts, exhausted but feeling accomplished.

"I cannot _believe_ how long the lines were just to get the books," Tom groaned, hanging his head, shaking it as he was reminiscing about how long the both of them waited in countless lines for books, a wand, robes, and potions supplies. "We're never going this late again. Even if I have to get your school letter for what books and things you'll need early from Dumbledore, we're never going this close to the beginning of term again…."

Very worn-out but still excited, Harry hugged Tom once more. "Thank you," he whispered, grinning tiredly.

"You're welcome, Harry," the elder man responded, returning the hug whole-heartedly, grinning back. "Time for be, though, eh?"

Harry agreed with a small, "Yeah," his eyelids drooping and threatening to close up shop for the night.

"And tomorrow, I'll teach you some more basics that you'll need to know for the beginning of your school year."

What a day tomorrow would be, Tom thought with a certain amount of dread.

--

Forcing his eyes to open, Tom got up the next morning still drowsy, scowling and glaring daggers at his little magical alarm clock, wishing he could just ignore the call to the living and continue drifting in sleep the rest of the day. He was definitely not used to taking care of such a child that had so much more energy than he did. Granted, he had taken care of Harry the whole summer but it just wasn't the same when faced with going to Diagon Alley to get school supplies during one of the busiest times of the year (outside of Christmas, of course) in Wizarding London.

With quite a number of things to do that day (and many of the following days) teaching Harry all that he needed to know not to make a fool of himself in Slytherin, which was likely to be the house that the boy was going to be sorted into, based on his assessments of Harry's attitude. It would be rather sad if the boy really ended up in Hufflepuff. And then there would really be little hope for Harry, then, when it came to peer pressure and the lot.

"It's now or never," he told himself, commanding himself to drag himself out of bed and get to work to make the deadline of the start of school in just a week and a half.

--

Today was the day that Harry'd been waiting for. It seemed like it'd been years, even though it had merely been a week and a half. He'd stayed up with Tom to study some important basics about Wizarding culture, some basic spells that he might need, and learned a good deal about the history of the castle he and Tom were living in during the school year.

He'd been impressed that the school (Harry didn't really like calling it that, with the connotation that went along with it, but what else was there to call Hogwarts?) had been founded almost one-thousand years ago by four very different people. Salazar Slytherin, Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, and Rowena Ravenclaw were the four Founders of Hogwarts, the respective Houses in the Wizarding school named after each of the Founders. And each of the students attending Hogwarts was to be sorted into one of the four Houses, which was determined by the Sorting Hat (that was once the possession of Gryffindor). The Sorting Hat was an enchanted hat that was designed to place each student into the most appropriate House, highly dependant on the personality of the individual being sorted.

At first, the thought of all of it overwhelmed Harry, but after thinking it over for a bit, Harry managed to understand what would happen on the first night of school. Which was tonight, believe it or not.

His heart was pounding in his chest as Tom dropped him off at the platform, straightening his collared shirt, nit-picking, really.

"Tom," he mumbled, blushing, embarrassed that Tom, the man who most people would least expect to be fussy about a child's appearance, was stooping (almost in half) down to fix Harry's hair, getting it just perfect. The trick was to use a charm that he'd learned from a beauty book of Minerva's when he was attending Hogwarts, himself. Previously thought to be an unmanageable mop of hair, Harry had practically cheered when Tom taught him the simple little charm to make his hair lie flat on his head.

"Yes, yes, I'll leave you be, then, son," Tom relented, chuckling as he took in the image of the boy standing in front of the brilliant red train, looking so flustered as any normal child did. "I'll see you in a few hours – do try to make a few friends, hmn?"

"_Tom_," he whined, pouting slightly.

"Right, I'll stop worrying," the professor retorted, quirking a smirk, quickly embracing his foster son, then letting him go. "Well, off with you, then!"

"Thanks," Harry told him, smiling back, nodding. And with that, he turned and got on the train with his trunk – which was issuing its final boarding call -- finding a cabin quickly, leaning out a window to wave to Tom as the train started to roll off towards Hogwarts.

He really hadn't wanted to get on the blasted train to begin with, but Tom had convinced him that he didn't want to stand out by not being on the train, just showing up at the feast when the sorting would take place. Tom's reasoning, outside of that rather important point, was that this would be a way for Harry to make some friends before Houses were determined and prejudices were set in stone by the culture in each House at Hogwarts.

After shoving his half-empty trunk into its proper place in the cabin, Harry got settled down, praying that no one would come and sit -- _Spoke too early, didn't I?_ he bemoaned as the door slid open and a taller, thin boy with dark brown hair came in and sat across from Harry.

"Adrian Pucey," the newcomer introduced himself as after a heavy silence once he got his trunk and his person settled in the compartment, extending a hand towards Harry.

"Harry Riddle," Harry replied, a bit awkwardly, hopefully loud enough, but not too loud, like he practiced with Tom, shaking the other boy's hand. "It's a pleasure."

"The pleasure is all mine. Riddle, huh?" the Pucey boy questioned, peering at Harry, very interested in the smaller boy. "I didn't know that the Professor had a child – certainly not your age."

"Oh, well, he adopted me over the summer," he admitted, doing his best not to show any embarrassment or shyness. "I'm a first year."

Adrian didn't comment on how much younger Harry looked compared to him, but instead, continued on in the same vain: "So am I. I've heard from my older brother that Professor Riddle's an excellent teacher and the Head of Slytherin and Deputy Headmaster – quite impressive, if you ask me."

Harry had forgotten about that part – Tom didn't really talk all that much of his duties as either, tending to focus more on his teaching than anything else, at least, around him. "He was the top of his class in Slytherin, too," Harry added, smiling, a feeling of pride welling up in him with how well he remembered everything that Tom had told him to say in certain circumstances.

"Yeah," Adrian agreed, nodding his head slightly, and then looked out the window, quickly lapsing into silence.

Reading one of the books that Tom had given him for his birthday (one on the different kinds of magic and how it was used in ancient times), allowing the silence to continue to grow and separate him from his companion, Harry keep to himself for most of the ride to Hogwarts. He was very thankful that the other boy wasn't a chatty sort of person.

"So, I take it you're going to be in Slytherin, like Professor Riddle?" the other boy asked, suddenly, still looking out the window, entranced by the falling rain that swept up against the glass pane of the train as they went.

"Most likely," Harry replied, marking his place in his book to gaze at the older boy sitting across from him. "What House do you think you'll be in?"

"The same – my whole family was in Slytherin, so it's not as if there's much of anywhere else I could go," he told Harry, again letting the conversation drift off into silence for a while. Then, "If I got sorted anywhere other than Slytheirn, it would be likely that my parents would kill me – or worse, disinherit me."

"I'm sure that you'll get into Slytherin," Harry reassured, not exactly sure how to respond to that sort of declaration that his new 'friend' had sprung on him.

"Oh, I suppose I will…"

Following the short bit of conversation, the two decided it was time to change into their school robes and sat in their compartment, passing the rest of the time in silence.

--

After getting out of those horrid boats and being welcomed into the castle by no one other than Tom, himself, Harry stood in line with the other first years, waiting to be called by his foster father.

Bradley had been declared as a "Ravenclaw!" along with Chambers and Davies, while Angelina Johnson, Lee Jordan became Gryffindors, and Diggory was sorted into Hufflepuff, all with a roar of applause to welcome them. There was only one boy that had been sorted into Slytherin before Harry's name was called and he was feeling quite a bit nervous – how was he going to be sorted? Was the hat being more biased towards Gryffindors and Ravenclaws this year?

Stepping forward, swallowing any doubts that he had before then, Harry became confident in himself, climbing onto the stool, and the hat was dropped onto his head by the caring Deputy Headmaster…

"Well, well, if it isn't Mr. Potter – oh, I apologize – Mr. Riddle," a voice seemed to whisper in his ear. Nothing to be afraid of, he knew, but it was an odd feeling. "I see you're very happy with Tom Riddle and enjoy your studies, but I know that Ravenclaw would be a mistake, as you're not driven solely by your thirst for knowledge. However, unlike both of your parents, Gryffindor won't suit you in the slightest. Now, Hufflepuff, on the other hand…"

"_Please not Hufflepuff!_" he bemoaned, mentally, afraid of the ridicule that would come if he was sorted into the house of the "loyal" and "trustworthy".

"There's no need to stress, dear boy, the students in Hufflepuff wouldn't quite understand you like those in SLYTHERIN!" Of course, only the last part was heard by all, and as Harry pulled the hat off of his head, finally able to see and hear the Great Hall of Hogwarts once more, he was surprised to see Tom winking at him, applauding him as well, with the rest of the Slytherin table, eagerly accepting him. For once, he was happy to be at school, as shocking as that sounded to Harry, even coming from himself.

And so, he took a seat at the bench under the banner of the House of Snakes, clapping for Adrian Pucey as he, too, was sorted into Slytherin, coming to sit down next to Harry.

Harry supposed that, for once, it wouldn't hurt to be friends with someone.

_To be continued..._

--

As you can see, my dear readers, I've decided to take a leap and put Harry into school two years earlier. Mostly because of my ulterior motives on sorting Harry into Slytherin, as opposed to Ravenclaw (which would be more likely if he'd been forced to wait one or two years, as he'd be more influenced by learning than wanting to learn so he can become powerful, etc.).

Questions, comments, reviews, or whatever (as long as it's relevant) are always welcomed and will be responded to as soon as humanly possible.

Thanks goes to my friend, Katy, for some awesome inspiration while awaiting Terminator Salvation on opening night.


End file.
